The Final Straw
by queenofowls
Summary: "Guard the healer's tent while we have this war meeting, Dedue," they said. "It'll be easy, Dedue." They were wrong. [Dedue/f!Byleth]


It is no surprise that Dimitri, occupied in a war meeting with Gilbert and Felix, had asked him to guard the tent where Byleth is being tended to. After all, with the professor in such a vulnerable state, it is only right that someone of his caliber be appointed, and this past battle has been _harsh_. 

He himself had come away with a dislocated shoulder and broken wrist that Mercedes had painstakingly reset and healed, but Byleth... It has taken three days to get her back to a functional state. Now, in the final stages of her healing, two healers specialized in massage therapy are at work in the tent behind him, getting her recently re-stitched muscles limber and ready to be put back to work.

_"Nnn..."_

Dedue does not consider himself a man easily overcome with desire. The nature of his work requires him to be uneasily disturbed and quite honestly, he cannot deny that it's rare for such dormant parts of him to stir, if only because he is so focused on staying alive and keeping the people around him living as well. He has never had the emotional space to allow such thoughts and as such, each one, when it inevitably came, has always been quickly and cruelly banished.

Until now.

_"Aa-ahhhhh..."_

The sounds coming out of the tent behind him... they send his thoughts places that to which he is unaccustomed. Try as he might, they refuse to be dismissed. Perhaps because it is Byleth's voice that he is hearing, groaning softly in small waves that has his stomach doing backflips. Her short breaths and winces, her sighs and occasional quiet mutterings... it is nothing short of absolutely unbearable.

"It is just a massage," Dedue mutters to himself firmly, his eyebrows furrowing until they almost touch. And yet... his whole body tenses at the sound of another intake of breath behind him.

He cannot help himself. His mind takes him to the sheet slipped over Byleth's bare back. The masseuse's hands-_his hands, in his mind_-slipping a finger down the sensitive ridges of her spine with light, calloused fingertips. He reaches for the edge of the sheet and watches as she shivers when his skin brushes her. When he grips the sheet's edge to pull it away-

"Lord Dedue?" He opens his eyes and looks behind him. "The Enlightened One is finished her treatment. Can you come in for a moment?" _Absolutely. _Dedue's feet turns more quickly than he'd admit is healthy, wondering if they need assistance.

Wait, assistance?

He almost recoils at his own thoughts. Absolutely _not_. Even if they did need assistance, what aid could he _possibly_ offer, except to be a nuisance placing his eyes where they ought not light?

"Is she..." He pauses, perhaps for a moment too long, his imagination spinning tales that do not at all suit a mere healing session. "Clothed?" The healer doesn't seem to notice, beckoning him closer.

"Of course, yes. We just have a... small problem, and she has informed us that you would be a... trustworthy choice." He doesn't miss the pause before the word 'trustworthy' and kindly ignores it. He ducks into the tent, his heart still trembling in his chest.

Byleth sits on the table, adjusting the armor brace on her knee. She's fully dressed, to Dedue's immense disappointment.

That is, relief. Immense... relief.

She looks up and, at the sight of him, grimaces. A curious expression, indeed. "I don't need assistance back to my room." A sensible statement albeit confusing... but why would she? Dedue looks to the healer, crossing his arms. Sliding from off of the massage table, she stumbles forward. Both healers reach out, but neither manage to match the speed or fear of Dedue's hands. He glares at them both, his gaze heavy with a mixture of warning and displeasure.

One of the healers flushes under the weight of it, wringing his hands tightly. His gaze flickers back and forth between Byleth and Dedue. "I'm sorry to say that we may have overdid it."

Dedue tightens his grip on Byleth as she seems unable to stand completely straight. "Meaning _what_, exactly." His voice sounds lower, rougher than he intends, likely a side effect of the thoughts he certainly shouldn't have been dwelling on. He can only guess the expression on his face, because the healer takes a full three steps backwards.

"Erm... I-I just mean to say that when we were working on her _vastus lateralis_, we might've..." Dedue's stare grows fiercer, the words flowing out of the healer in a fearful single stream. "Too-relaxed-may-have-trouble-walking-please-don't-hurt-me!"

The other healer sighs, rolling his eyes. "It won't last long, but the Enlightened One may need an escort to her room. Would you mind?" Byleth leans against Dedue, her lips slightly parted, face flushed, body limber from-_the massage_, he reminds himself. There's an image on the edge of his mind, combined with her expression, combined with the idea of her panting, combined with those low, quiet sounds she made as her body was loosened by the massage therapists. He tries to leave it there on the edge, tries not to let it come completely into his mind, but it's there.

Taunting him. Frazzling him.

_'Ahhh.'_

"Yes." He pauses, then continues. "I don't mind."

The sentence doesn't make much sense, but Byleth doesn't seems to notice as she looks up at Dedue balefully, her legs still swaying as she peels his hands off of her. "I'm sorry to depend on you like this. I... can't seem to control my legs very well," she admits uncomfortably, even as she squirms out of his grasp, attempting to walk on her own again. He lets go reluctantly, his fingers hot, but the moment he does, Byleth leans a little too far forward. He has no choice but to reach for Byleth again, a cold sweat assaulting the base of his neck as her breasts cushion against his forearm for the briefest of moments before she leans again unsteadily, her back resting against torso.

Dedue has never been set on fire, but he cannot imagine it is any different than what he is feeling now, licks of flame crossing his body, making him feel raw and exposed in the places where their skin meets. He feels like he is thirsty, burning, and starving all at the same time-and not in a way that can be quenched with water or rations. Before he can stop himself, Dedue scoops her entire body in his arms, earning a surprised gasp from one of the healers as her foot almost slaps him in the jaw. What a shame.

"T-take care!" Dedue spares him a brisk nod, then ducks through the tent entrance. Dedue is a man who has always garnered attention, but the sight of the man of Duscur with the Enlightened One in his arms is something that certainly draws murmurs. He tries to ignore them, but he has nowhere else to look but forward.

Not when he can feel Byleth's eyes on his face.

He wishes she would speak so that he could know what, exactly, draws her gaze so warm against his skin. Instead, he can only think of their quiet reunion in her room after he revealed himself to be alive, her mouth so soft against his. A time, he reminds himself more firmly, he _swore_ that his focus would be dedicated to helping his liege achieve dreams of a transformed Fódlan.

The memory, crowded out by the parts where her then-injured body pressed lightly against his, doesn't help. At the moment, his focus couldn't be further as he marches towards her tent.

Dedue refuses to allow his eyes to stray towards her. He isn't sure what the expression on his face would be-but before he can battle the thought any longer, to his relief, Byleth shuts her eyes.

And presses her forehead into the hollow of his neck.

He almost drops her.

"The soldiers are staring, aren't they." She's not really asking, and he's not really noticing. He'd noted the murmurs when they first left the tent, but in truth, Dedue hasn't looked at a single person directly since they left the healer's tents. Not only that, but well as he knows the vast army campsite, he suddenly realizes that he's been walking blindly. He should've taken a left three tents ago. He takes it now and glances around himself.

_Staring...?_

"Yes." He answers simply because it's a simple answer. No matter the direction he steps, curious gazes follow.

"I don't want to see." She says the words idly, with a carelessness Dedue can only envy. He is ever conscious of her body, pressed against his. "Since this campaign began, I can feel them depending on me." Dedue shifts her weight in his arms and grasps for the words to answer. For the first time in his life, speaking is a _much_ wanted distraction.

"You... led us well, once." He's referring to her days as a professor, so long ago for him, and yet yesterday for her. Glancing down at the crown of her bright hair, he can see little of her expression. He continues steadily, picking through the tents. Only a few stretches to go. "I believe you are the only one who can aid our victory. Even if I do not survive, I know that you will help his Highness defeat the Empire." He feels her nose glance his chest as she looks up at him. He forces himself to control his breathing, knowing that if his breath hitches even slightly, she will feel it, being pressed against him as she is.

"Thank you, Dedue. Your faith in me is... comforting." And then, torturously, she nestles back against him. "...You feel warm." She murmurs the words so softly that he isn't certain whether or not he is supposed to hear them. He certainly _feels_ them though, the sounds vibrating in his chest as her lips brush lightly against the skin along with her moist, hot breath and teeth and her tongue dragged across his chest and her hands-

Dedue blinks and wonders for a moment if he is going mad.

"It's warm today," he finally replies. He stops abruptly as they arrive at the outside of her tent. Carefully, gingerly, Dedue lowers Byleth to her feet. She presses her hands against him for balance and it takes all Dedue can do not to gather her body against his and-

"Would you like to come inside?"

_Come... inside...?_

The words appear in his mind with a comprehension that he is absolutely certain differs from her. A flicker of doubt crossing her face at his lack of response, she tactfully tacks on another set of words to add appeal to her invitation. "For tea?"

"I can't." He blurts the words out, completely unable to say them more steadily. Byleth's eyes trails up his large frame to meet his. And when they do... he breaks her gaze before she can truly appreciate what lies in it.

"You can't stay for tea?" She echoes in disbelief. It's not as if he has somewhere else to be-but he does. He truly does. He has to be anywhere but here, enduring the feeling-the lack of feeling-of her skin in his mind, in his hands and on his tongue. He clears his throat, his mouth full of the words he is not allowed to say. Only one passes the test of propriety.

"No."

Byleth's lips tilt slightly downward. How can he express that no matter how strong his intentions to take tea with her, the moment the tent's flap is shut, he is certain that a teacup is not what he will press his lips against? Dedue frowns. It is not even the worry that she will reject him that stops him. Rather, he is certain she will _not_, and that is more worrying than her saying no. Mostly because if he swallows her whole, he would want to draw the sounds he heard outside the healer's tent from deep within her chest, and they... are in the middle of a march. _In the middle of a war._

Dedue looks Byleth over, the outfit of the enlightened one capturing his eyes more than he wishes it did. He would think that covering slightly more skin would help, but rather, the skin of her exposed thighs and stomach pull at his eyes with equal intensity. Said frankly, his eyes drink her in as thirstily as his lips wish to and it is in the heat of this gaze that finally, Byleth can see enough of his expression to understand. She doesn't quite get _why_ it's happening, but at the very least she gets _what_ is happening, her cheeks flooding with color in reply.

Dedue echoes his reply again, this time more to himself than to Byleth. _"No."_

And then he turns and forces himself to walk away, his thighs trembling with the desire to let go of his primary allegiance just this once. _After the war_, he chants to himself. _After the war, she is yours._ He tries to take comfort-and refuge-in lighter fantasies. _After the war, you will take her to flower fields of Duscur._

But even here, there is no reprieve as he helplessly imagines lying her down amongst the flower beds, peeling the layers of the enlightened one's garb away and turning around right now and returning to her tent and-no, no, no.

**No.**

He isn't sure how he makes it to the war tent, but by the time he steps heavily inside, his gaze is dark and strained. Even Felix seems to note the intensity of his thoughts. Wisely, he chooses not to comment on it as Dedue takes a tense seat by the door, waiting for the meeting to end. This is the final straw, he tells himself. He cannot endure even a moment more of the temptation hovering along the edges of his normally focused mind.

The moment the meeting adjourns and the others leave, he approaches Dimitri, a solution on his tense tongue.

"What is it, Dedue? You seem..." Dimitri looks him over and, unable to choose an adjective, clears his throat. "Er... am I able to assist in someway?"

"Yes." Dedue shifts his stance. "I would like to change my rooming situation at Garreg Mach." Dimitri's eyebrows lift.

"Is that... is that so? I'm certain I can ask the professor which rooms are available. I believe she knows the layout better than I." Dedue pauses for a long moment.

"I'd rather you just... permit me to move. I can select a room amongst those of the former students."

"Permission granted, of course." Dimitri pauses curiously. "But may I ask why? I only knew of your affections for the professor after she went missing, but I would think you would glad to be next door." Dedue doesn't reply, his expression only darkening as his fingers twitch with thoughts he cannot believe have chosen _now_ of all times to stir. He lowers himself into a bow.

"If I may request that you do not ask for further details, your Highness." Dimitri tilts his head curiously before nodding slowly.

"I... will not press it, then." Relieved, Dedue departs towards his own tent, uncertain that he could ever explain aloud how much effect a simple set of sounds has had on his thoughts. Even if Dimitri _did_ ask.


End file.
